Sean Trane Amongst the better-rated albums of Riley is Flight, where Howard performs (as usual) in a piano-dominated trio, this time with Barry Guy (contrabass) and Tony Oxley (drums), and it seems the logical continuation of the previous album. The non-descript artwork describes fairly well the music held on the slice of wax, and it was recorded in one session in the early spring of 71. Flight is definitely another experimental foray into dissonant sonic framework that can almost qualify as musique concrete, if it wasn’t played with “normal” instruments. The opening sidelong Motion is certainly a very challenging piece, but the dissonance and improvisation remains accessible for the patient and adventurous jazzhead. As opposed to Angle, Riley lets his acolytes some “songwriting” space, but it doesn’t make the musical propos easier on the listener.

As for the flipside, it forays a tad more in the dissonant region, with Oxley’s Cirrus track, completely disjointed and even atonal, followed by the Guy-penned Forgotten Game, where Riley’s piano seems to wonder aimlessly on any scale it happens to find itself. Difficult stuff, really!!. And just as you might think that Two Ballads might be a return to normalcy, one can only wonder how Lesley and Sue actually appreciated the dissonant and disjointed “songs” written for them, but my guess is that the later (more likely Barry Guy’s wife/girlfriend) was a tad luckier. The title track closes the aural hostilities directed at your sanity and a daring last stand, Riley almost abusing the piano, while Guy’s g-string on his contrabass gets stretched beyond reasonable. Definitely not the kind of album that you’d want to play to your latest conquest and get cosy with her. It’s always a bit of a wonder how such an album got a CD reissue, but FMR Records certainly has merits for doing so. Prefer the previous Angle album, as it makes much more sense to a nearly-sane jazzhead.

Sean Trane Another piano-dominated trio album, Angle is definitely one of the more accessible of Riley’s works in that period of time. Working again with Barry Guy on contrabass, it is Alan Jackson that occupies the drum stool, and we have Barbara Thompson tooting the flute on one track. Not sure what the object of the artwork is, but it’s kind of fascinatingly warm and represents well the music inside the sleeve. The opening Exit (no joke) is actually fairly accessible (for Riley’s standards), but Gormenghast is more of a challenge with Guy’s almost violent string thumping all over his contrabass’ fretboard, but the closing minute is rather pleasant, and (dare I say it) almost melodic. However the thankfully-short S&S is definitely not of the same mould with its highly dissonant improv. Fragment almost picks up where Gormenghast had left things at, than the gentle piano softens much of the bass and drums improvisations, and Riley’s key tickling has many endearing sometimes-Tyneresque moments.

On the flipside, the title track features Barry’s bowed bass that brings an exquisite touch at first, but then goes wild in its plucking before returning to its bow and Riley’s piano rambling on with much inspiration, and the track veers almost violent. Good stuff, too! The following Aftermath is a highly energetic piece (but all-too short) where Riley’s Tyneresque piano glides over an awesome bowed contrabass, giving a semi-raga feel, and making it the album’s highlight. The three-part Three Fragments is just that, with Thompson’s slightly dissonant and shrieking flute is the main protagonist, with Riley’s piano playing second fiddle. The closing Gill is one of the album’s more difficult moments in terms of dissonance, but to give you an idea, this would be the most accessible on the future Flight album. As for Riley’s works, it is difficult to recommend one album, but should you want to explore his realm, you might want to start with Angle, and if you can digest the more dissonant tracks on it, then you might just be ready for other works of his.